Wyld Hunt
by Paradoqz
Summary: Through the universe gone mad the hunt races.


Disclaimers: All characters named and implied belong to Marvel comics, I am   
making no profit. 

This story is taking place in a shift universe. The concept of that universe was created by Alicia McKenzie, who graciously allowed me to play there. 

Shift universe: When in one of multitudes of dimension the X-men battled En Sabah Nur something went horribly awry and the "reality was torn at the   
seams." The Multiverse has collapsed in on itself, all possible variants of myriad of Earths overlapping, the shards or realities sliding in and out   
over each other, shifting. The Chaos given life, the shift-universe... 

To check out the fic that started it all come to   
http://members.tripod.com/~askani_2/aspect.htm Not necessary, but why in   
the world would you want to miss out on Alific?:) 

Dedication: To KJ. Happy birthday:) 

***   
The man is running. The man is running through the desert. He runs heavily, his feet thudding fixedly into the sand and leaving the resulting craters   
with difficulty, even though his body is lean and lithe, seemingly perfect for a runner. 

The man is running.   
The man is running through the desert. 

His breath leaves his windpipe in short, heavy gasps. Every so often the man looks back, over his shoulder, and quickens his steps. Before too long, however, he is forced to return to his usual pace again. The man is tired. The man slows down. He spotted this oasis a while ago. For a second there is a struggle, clearly visible on his face. Then he stops completely, throws the metallic flasks into the stream, and then plunges his own head through the smooth, chilly surface. 

The man drinks. He drinks quickly in fast, greedy gulps. Suddenly his head snaps from the stream and, throwing drops of water from the short, light   
brown hair, he stares warily to his left side. When the squirrel suddenly jumps out of the bush the man gasps and grabs for his knife, only to sigh in shuddering relief a second later. The man is afraid. 

The man looks behind him. It takes some time for his eyes to adjust, but eventually he detects what he's looking for. What he is afraid to see - but   
what he knows he will see nevertheless. Another shuddering sigh escapes his chest as he turns back to the spring. He grabs the flasks as he gets up and,   
corking them in mid-step, resumes his run. The man is afraid. He was not always. He can remember the time when he was afraid of nothing. When he was strong. 

The man is running. 

As his body falls into the now familiar pattern, his thoughts run too. They run quickly, unlike the halting movement of his legs. They run almost too fast and in too many different directions. The man is hallucinating. He sees himself as he was not so long ago. Powerful, fearless, an inch from becoming unbeatable. He deserved it, the man thinks. It almost worked, he argues with himself. Summers was ready to attack me, he remembers. Where did HE come from, the man wonders for the   
hundredth time. 

Suddenly a shimmering not-quite-mist catches the man's attention. He knows what it is. Another shift is coming. The man is indifferent. At first he   
hoped the shifts would slow THEM down. They did the others. He lost the others time and time again thanks to the shifts. But not THEM. Never THEM.   
The man remembers and again quickens his step for another fleeting moment. He remembers the beginning. When, even though it all went wrong and another   
fell in his trap, he was still a hairsbreadth from victory. He could feel the Power starting to course through his veins. The countless worlds and   
possibilities starting to coalesce before his eyes. He could almost taste it! And then the universe fractured… every universe. 

The man is running. The man is running through the desert. 

He's been running for ages, it seems. Not at first though. He was strong at first. He stood his ground. They came at him but he stood his ground and laughed in their   
faces. He was strong. His …no, HIS body betrayed him. The powers refused to obey him at times, flaring up unexpectedly and going out in the same way.   
Sometimes lasting for weeks, sometimes for just a moment. Chaotic… A silent, deranged giggle escapes the man's throat. Chaotic… his powers   
didn't make sense… like everything around him… the worlds gone mad. Another giggle babbles out, in between the gasping breaths. Quiet and   
incongruous with the single tear running from his eye. The man is insane.   


The man is running. The man is running through the desert. 

The man is afraid. He remembers the first days. His powers refused to serve him. His Riders lay defeated. Still the man stood his ground. He beat them back,   
time after time. He was strong. 

The man is running. He's running toward the shimmering barrier. He remembers the exact moment when he first became afraid. Once again he had lost the others. He knew they would find him again in time but was not worried. He was strong. He decided to defeat them, while their numerical superiority was negligible. He stopped and waited for THEM.   
THEM. 

He can lose the others time after time, but not THEM. Never THEM. Every time the man looks over his shoulder, he knows he will see THEM. As if waiting   
for this thought, the man's head turns and his eyes automatically find the targets. THEY are closer now. Not just dots in the distance. He can make out their   
figures now. Trailing him. Following him. Hounding him. 

He remembers the time he attacked them. He might have defeated them, the man argues to himself. If the powers would have held another minute, he thinks.   
I was so close, he complains to the uncaring sky. And again, as it happens every time, he thinks of that day, he remembers the moment. The moment he was afraid for the first time. It was the powers, he tells himself stubbornly. The body betrayed me, he wails to the silent sands. 

The man lies. It was when one of THEM lay against the tree, his wings torn out, blood gushing. And the other was lunging for his throat. That was when   
he was afraid for the first time. Not because he was close to death. The man deflected the lunge easily. No. 

Not because the powers abandoned him. He could still feel them at that moment. No. 

The man shudders quietly and puts the desperate burst into his steps, spending the last of his strength to reach the shift quicker. He is not quick enough. The man remembers the moment. The moment he became afraid. The Moment he was not strong anymore. 

He looks behind him again. THEY are closer now. Coming after him with that unerring pace. That relentless, merciless pace. The man is afraid. 

He dives into the shimmering barrier. And just as the Change comes, the man remembers. He remembers seeing the bleeding man he once called son, look at   
him and shriek like the hawk sweeping upon his victim. He remembers flinching and stepping back. Only to meet the second pair of eyes. The eyes of the man who seconds ago had gone for the his throat, ignoring the deep gash in his own side. 

Those eyes.   
Looking at him from behind bushy brows, sure and calm.   
Calm and on fire.   
Promising nothing but death.   
Eyes of Retribution. 

And then the man behind those eyes, laughed sharply and got back on his   
feet, ignoring the broken ribs. Still ignoring that gash and the blood   
coating his fur. 

That's when the man was afraid for the first time. 

And then the echo of that laugh. 

Like a call of death, when the second man, his son, his… the man giggles again… his Angel of Death got up too. That was the moment the man ran. When   
he RAN for the first time. When he became weak. When he was not strong anymore. 

The man is running. He's running through the abandoned city. 

The man is afraid. He doesn't look behind him. The man is tired. He still hears that laugh. That coldly scornful sound is ringing in his   
ears. Always. 

The man is running. The man is running through the forest. 

The man is afraid. He knows what's behind him. Eventually the others will find THEM again. The flame-haired woman will shout a greeting, which will go unanswered. The others will fall in behind THEM and it will start anew until they will be lost in another shift.   
But not THEM. Never THEM. 

The man is running. The man is running through the desert. 

The man is afraid. Afraid of THEM. THEY are always there. Sometimes closer, sometimes farther. But always there. Breathing down his neck. Tracking him down. Following the man. Implacable. Unstoppable.   
THEM. 

The angel and the beast.   
The man is running. The man is afraid.   
The man who would be Lord. The Eternal Lord. To rule forever.   
The man is running. The man is afraid. He will run throughout all eternity   
if need be. He will run to the end of the world. To the end of all worlds.   
The man is running. He is running, trying to escape, trying to outrun his   
thought, trying to outrun the light, mocking laughter in his head and the   
pestering whisper of the man who SHOULD be dead.   
"You will never run far enough." 

The man is running. Feeling the return of the powers, he mechanically creates an ice-slide in hope of increasing the distance between him and   
THEM. 

The man is running. Always running. 

Running. 

Forever afraid of looking back and seeing his fate in those terrible eyes behind him. 

The man is running.   
Forever. 


End file.
